


Let none render it back

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: You Drove Me Wild [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, hangovers, moping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros attempts some self-control; achieves moping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let none render it back

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [И никогда не возвращайте его друг другу!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6675115) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio)



"Did you take a blow to the head today, Nelyafinwë?”

“What?” Maitimo started up guiltily, suddenly aware that someone was talking to him. About him? It wasn’t clear.

Fëanaro leveled his sharp grey gaze at his eldest son. “We were talking about the numbers from the latest shipment of ore, but perhaps we should be more concerned about your possible concussion.”

“What?” said Maitimo again, shaking his head slightly. He’d been caught up in memories of blue eyes heated with desire, of sword-calloused fingers brushing over his skin.

“He’s been distracted all day,” Curufinwë said from the other side of the table, watching his older brother knowingly.

Fëanaro rose and crossed over to Maitimo, laying a cool hand against his son’s forehead. “You don’t appear to be feverish and I see no evidence of trauma upon you.” His eyes raked Maitimo’s body critically. “Sparing some undiagnosed and invisible illness, I see no excuse for your inattention, Nelyo.”

“Apologies,” murmured Maitimo, dropping his eyes. “I – I must have drifted off slightly. I didn’t sleep well last night. I am sorry, father, I’ll be more attentive.”

“No need,” said Fëanaro, turning away. “Curvo and I have this well in hand. You should go and get some rest.” He flicked shut the portfolio before him on the table. “I wouldn’t want you _drifting off_ again.”

Maitimo stood automatically and bowed his head to his father. “It won’t happen again. Thank you.”

As he passed his brother, Curufinwë murmured, just on the edge of hearing, “And I wonder what caused such unusual loss of sleep… Perhaps something to do with our fair cousin leaving via your window this morning?”

Maitimo clenched his jaw and ignored him, exiting the room with as much dignity as he could muster.

-

Once in the solitude of his own room, he sank down on the bed with a groan, his head falling forward into his hands. He was hardly a pubescent child anymore; there was no reason he should be reacting so strongly to what had happened the night before.

But try as he might, he couldn’t wipe the memory of Findekáno’s kiss from his mind, nor the feeling of waking up that morning pressed against his cousin’s bare back. Horrified at how his body was reacting to their proximity, and the acts their position suggested all too easily, he’d pulled back sharply. Findekáno had woken and rolled over sleepily to regard him.

“Morning,” he’d mumbled, eyes half closed, his face tilting up to Maitimo’s, and Maitimo had slid rapidly from the bed, turning away hastily to hide his arousal.

“You should go before the rest of the house wakes up,” he’d said over his shoulder, averting his eyes from the pull of muscle in Findekáno’s chest as he stretched.

“If that’s what you want,” Findekáno had said, so quietly that Maitimo, busying himself with his clothes, almost missed it.

“Yes, it’s for the best,” Maitimo had lied, and Findekáno had left, leaving him almost painfully aroused and thoroughly disgusted with himself.

 _And what would have happened if I’d asked him to stay?_ He thought now, fingers clenching in his hair. _Best not to think about it_. But that in itself seemed an impossibility.

 _I shall have to avoid him_ , Maitimo decided, miserably, _and wait for these feelings to abate_. He wondered how long that would take.

-

As it turned out, his vow to avoid Findekáno lasted for approximately three hours. Unable to sleep without drifting into dreams where Findekáno lay beside him, not asleep this time but ever so awake, aroused, hot to the touch, Maitimo threw himself from the bed with something akin to violence and paced his room.

Deciding his own room was too confining and evocative, he forced himself out onto the streets to walk off some of his frustration. Inevitably, however, he found his feet leading him up the hill to the house of his Uncle Nolofinwë. He drew to a halt before the door, one hand poised to knock, but the last vestiges of his pride refusing to let his fist fall. Who knows how long he would have stood there, had the door not swung open to reveal his cousin Irissë, dressed in white leathers and with her bow in her hand.

“Oh! Hello, Russandol.” She cocked her head, grinning up at him. “You know, I’m surprised to see you here.”

Panicked, Maitimo asked, “Why?”

“Because Turukáno says you were drinking with them last night, and Turukáno looks like something the cat sicked up.” She swatted him with her bow. “Aren’t you supposed to be the responsible one?”

“As far as last night goes, I _was_ the responsible one,” protested Maitimo. “I was the one who chased down your brother before he woke up all of Tirion, and – ” He broke off abruptly, remembering what had followed his pursuit of Findekáno, and how it could hardly be viewed as responsible. He swallowed, but Irissë was laughing.

“Findekáno, eh?” she asked, eyes sparkling. Maitimo tried not to notice that they were exact same shade of blue as her brother’s. “I broke one of my favorite sandals chasing him down one night and I’ve never forgiven him for it. I’d almost rather he became maudlin like Arakáno or a demagogue like Turukáno.”

Maitimo smiled. “Last night Turukáno lectured us on free will and predestination.”

Irissë groaned. “Insufferable. Anyway, I’m off hunting.”

“With Tyelko?”

Irissë nodded. “You want to come?”

“No thank you,” said Maitimo. “But tell Tyelko our father will want him back by dinner!” he called as Irissë took off down the path.

“I’ll do my best!” she yelled back, almost out of sight.

Maitimo pushed through the door she’d left ajar, and into the cool darkness of the entrance hall behind. Making his way quietly down the hall to the kitchen, he entered to find Turukáno sitting at the table, his hair and clothes neat but with dark circles under his eyes.

“Greetings,” said Maitimo, trying not to smile at his clearly suffering cousin. “It is a beautiful day.”

“Is it?” Turukano took a sip from his water glass and closed his eyes. “Should you see him, please inform Findaráto that we are no longer speaking.”

Maitimo could sympathize. Clapping Turukáno on the back, he said, “I won’t bother you long. I was just – ”

“Looking for Findekáno?” Turukáno opened his eyes and shot a knowing if weary glance at Maitimo.

Maitimo, telling himself he was far too old to blush, nodded.

Turukáno gestured. “Out back somewhere. He said he needed to work off some energy. I don’t know where he got it from,” he added, draining his water glass, “as he drank at least as much as I did, not to mention having that abominable moonshine of your brother’s.”

“Findekáno is a force of nature,” said Maitimo, smiling in spite of himself. “I’ll go find him. Thank you, Turukáno.”

Turukáno waved an absentminded hand at him, and laid his head down on the table. Maitimo slipped out the kitchen door to the back gardens. Setting out across the rolling lawns, he made his way to a far back corner where there was a dense cluster of trees he knew Findekáno liked.

As he neared, he saw a figure with long black braids beneath the trees. Findekáno was hanging from a thick branch, doing pull-ups. Each time he pulled himself up, the light slanting through the leaves caught the gold in his hair, momentarily dazzling Maitimo. Shading his eyes, he approached the grove, footsteps too light for Findekáno to notice him until they were almost level with each other.

Findekáno caught sight of him, his grip on the branch slipping slightly, before letting go and dropping to the ground, breath coming heavily.

“How many are you up to?” asked Maitimo approaching and gesturing at the branch.

Findekáno glanced up at the tree and shrugged. “Twenty five or so. Mostly I do sets of ten with something else in between.” He grinned at Maitimo, eyes flashing a challenge. “Why, how many you think you can do?”

Maitimo rested a hand against the branch and shook his head. “We’d have to find a different pull-up bar. This one’s too short for me.”

Findekáno groaned. “You just had to rub that in, didn’t you?” He pulled up his tunic to wipe sweat from his face and dropped to the ground under the tree.

Maitimo sat carefully beside him. “I was surprised to find you out here. I thought you’d be spending the day sleeping it off.”

Findekáno shook his head. “Couldn’t sleep.” He met Maitimo’s eyes, then looked away, quickly. Maitimo’s heart constricted, though he couldn’t tell why exactly.

“About last night,” he began, but Findekáno cut him off.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked, bluntly. “About us just being drunk, and – ” he waved a hand impatiently, “ – and that being all it was?”

Maitimo was silent, not having anticipated the question being turned around on him. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “What do you want me to say?”

Findekáno clenched his jaw, and Maitimo saw the same stubborn look come into his eyes as he had on the training fields when going up against a taller, stronger opponent. “That’s not fair,” he said, “Turning it back on me. For Eru’s sake, Maitimo- ,” and then, as Maitimo opened his mouth, Findekáno went on, in a rush.

“I want you to have wanted it,” he said, and there was that challenge in his eyes again. “ _I_ wanted it. I wanted _you_ , even – for ages before – ” he broke off and balled his fists. “It’s not because I was drunk,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve wanted you, sober and not, for years.”

Maitimo pressed his back against the trunk of the tree, seeking some sort of stability as the ground dropped away beneath him.

“Valar all damn, Maitimo, _say_ something!” Findekáno burst out, and Maitimo looked at him again at last, noticing his eyes were over bright and there was color on his cheeks. He looked like he was bracing himself for a fight.

It was ever like this, Maitimo thought, that he, usually so eloquent, found himself lost for words before Findekáno. But where words failed, actions spoke easily enough. So instead he leaned forward, sliding a hand behind Findekáno’s head, and pulled him into a kiss. One hand tangled in Findekáno’s braids, and he could feel his cousin’s heartbeat racing as his other hand sought the pulse point in Findekáno’s throat. Findekáno’s hands came up and gripped his shoulders fiercely.

“Findekáno,” Maitimo whispered against his lips. “Findekáno, I – ”

“Hush,” Findekáno mumbled, pulling Maitimo closer. “You’ll just say something infuriating and ruin it.”

“There’s nothing on Arda I want more than this,” Maitimo whispered, and he could feel Findekáno smile.

“Then shut up and kiss me,” he ordered, and Maitimo complied.

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. I can't stop writing them as lovesick teens. Help.  
> 1\. Title from Whitman’s [Calamus](http://www.whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/poems/45) collection of poems, which I highly recommend as one of the greatest collections of homoerotic, romantic poetry of the age. (And hence rather neglected over the past 150 years.)


End file.
